


Maintenance Shaft A, Junction 7

by Britpacker



Series: Making It Real [5]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, Risk Taking, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:17:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Engineering: the one place worse than the bridge to fantasize about.  Luckily for Trip, Malcolm has a plan...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maintenance Shaft A, Junction 7

**Author's Note:**

> Usual disclaimers and confessions - only the errors are mine. This fic was originally posted at the Warp 5 Complex.

“Fuckin’ stupid place t’ fit a sensor relay. Who’d they get t’ design these things, a bunch of blind chimpanzees?”

“I assume that _is_ a rhetorical question, Commander?”

In the tight confines of the Jeffries tube that ran between his territory and the outer hull the dry voice of the Chief Engineer’s favourite Armoury Officer resonated with the clarity of an old-time church bell, its clipped British enunciation untainted by distorting echoes. “Hi, Malcolm. Come to gimme a hand?”

“Two, if you want them.” Squatting at his side, Reed peered into the unhealthy jumble of twisted mesh that usually kept the ship’s communications system functioning. One of the slim hands offered came to rest on the Southerner’s tense shoulder, the other probing tentatively into the exposed wiring. “Although it looks like you could use a few more. The Torodian scanner did more damage than we thought.”

“Sure did.” He was too close, Tucker thought briefly, distracted from the red and green wires in his hands by the faint woodland scent of his partner’s aftershave; a subtle aroma that even after a year together still sent shivers down his spine. He sighed, then hissed a curse as the enticing fragrance seeped deep into his lungs. “Er, Malcolm? You’re in my light.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The satiny tone held an underlying menace that aroused him even more forcefully than the delicious scent, especially when accompanied with the merest curling of a fine-cut upper lip. “Am I in your way, love?”

_What?_

Endearments on duty. A touch that wasn’t – now he could unfreeze his brain long enough to think about it, those fingers were actively caressing his shoulder – professional or merely comradely. Lieutenant Rulebook was blowing every single one of his regulations out the same airlock and daring his naturally more freewheeling partner to call him on it.

“I’m cool.”

“Are you?” The hand rose to feather across his damp brow. “Hmmm, perhaps you’re running a temperature, Charles – you feel awfully _warm_ to me.”

“Charles? Now listen here, Lieutenant…”

Any further protest was stopped by the hot pressure of a hungry mouth crashing down over his, swallowing Trip’s indignant squeak. Insistent hands pushed him backward until his shoulderblades connected with the outer bulkhead and his butt banged into the floor. And that was the point his hormones kicked in. Hard.

“Jesus, Malcolm!” he gasped, wild-eyed and half-undressed by the time his voracious assailant allowed him up for air. “What the hell has gotten into you? I’ve not seen you like this since – we’ve not been boarded by Orions, have we?”

“Not that I know of.” Malcolm’s voice was admirably controlled despite his heaving chest and the massive erection threatening to bust his zipper, his dexterous fingers exposing Trip’s frontage before the engineer could mount so much as a footballer’s free-kick cover-up. “Mmmm, don’t be so modest, darling; I’ve been wanting this since Chef served up those jumbo sausages for breakfast.”

“Malc – oh!” His cock was swallowed whole, and as he flopped onto his back with his legs fallen wide apart Trip forgot all complaints about the unappetising comparison between his dick and the mess hall’s finest. His hips came off the floor, one hand scrabbling for purchase in his tormentor’s thick dark hair. “Uuuhhh, we shouldn’t…”

“Right beside your precious engine room, Commander.” Serpentine, Reed slithered up his lover’s torso, shoving up the bright blue tank until it bunched beneath his armpits. With his shirt unbuttoned and his coverall hanging off, flat on his back with the vibrations from the warp reactor in the hangar beyond running through his spine, Tucker felt wanton – debauched as he never had before. “Close enough for your staff to hear if you’re not _very_ careful to bite your lip.”

Malcolm caught a peaked nipple between thumb and forefinger, distracting his victim with a drugging kiss before administering a deliberately rough tweak. Trip bit so hard into his bottom lip he felt blood spurt.

Somehow, it just excited him more.

His hardness twitched against Malcolm’s thigh and the Englishman gave a deliberate rub, the soft humming sound that always reminded Trip of a cat’s satisfied purr seeping through his focussed pout. “You’ve wanted to have me where your precious engine’s presence is strongest for a long time, Charles,” he murmured, an admonitory finger over lips that parted in instinctive objection. “So I thought: if we can’t do it on the reactor, isn’t this the next-best thing?”

The slim digit over his lips moved southward, tracing a hypnotic pattern over Tucker’s chin and throat before diving into his chest hair, preoccupying all his concentration with a shimmer of sensation while the Brit dealt one-handed with the annoyance of his own clothing. “Right beside your territory. The ship’s vibrations running through your arse while I fuck you. You _do_ want me to fuck you, of course?”

“’f course.” Trip tried to swallow, his dry lips threatening to stick to his teeth as he stared at Malcolm’s engorged cock jutting proudly from its nest of soft dark hair. He pushed his buttocks back into the cold metal grill, burning the pattern of the plating into his tender flesh, legs spread in barefaced, desperate invitation. If the goddamn impossible Limey didn’t get down to some serious fucking soon, he suspected he might come just from thinking of it.

“Good boy.” The other nipple took a violent pinch and his shoulders came up in harmony with his hips, his feet bracing against the narrow passageway’s side for purchase. Even through the soles of his working boots he could feel the thrum of Enterprise’s engines running along his legs and arrowing into his groin.

From one of his many pockets the lieutenant snagged a small container – hand lotion, Trip realised groggily, swallowing his lips to stop a squeak when the slippery cream greased his puckered hole. A finger eased slowly through, shivers running out to meet the ship’s vibration from where it feathered silken inner skin and he gasped, biting down on the sound the same moment as Kelly’s clear, confident trill sliced through the bulkhead by his ear.

The reminder of their proximity to his people sent another chill down his spine. Letting the words leak from the corner of his mouth, Trip tried to urge his tormentor on. “Please… Malcolm I need…”

“Ssshhh.” Love, protectiveness and good old-fashioned lust swirled through the Armoury Officer as he worked his man to readiness, biting his lip against the urge to howl their presence all the way up to the bridge. The gorgeous blond was on fire beneath him, long limbs clasping frantically at Malcolm’s sinewy frame, bubbles of desperate breath escaping between his frantically bitten lips. Satisfied the man was sufficiently loose he crashed down for another kiss, allowing them both to moan in safety while he blindly smothered his impatient cock.

Sticky with cream and pre-come it eased by Trip’s softened barrier and he prolonged the oral contact, feeling the sound of his relief work out of his constricted chest. Trip’s legs clamped hard around his waist, broad, blunt fingertips burning into his back while small whimpers filled his mouth to clash with his harsher, more guttural gasps. The muffled sounds of activity beyond their secret haven melted before they could reach the lovers’ ears.

Cold, hard metal; hot, sweaty flesh. The contrast was beyond stimulation and Trip writhed into it, mindless with the surging force of bliss. His balls contracted, achingly tender to the touch; his belly flooded with liquid fire. Suspended in time for one magical moment, his heavy eyes flew open, his head fell back and he came, his universe splintered into a billion brilliant pieces and his howl drunk down into his lover’s guts.

The clench of Trip’s tight passage around him was all it needed to send Malcolm sobbing to the same peak, mouth torn free of the blond’s to stifle the cry in the solid strength of his hairy chest. The boom of his racing heart loud in his ear the Englishman clung to his lover, keeping his eyes tight shut until the spinning in his head began to abate and the low bass thrum of male voices beyond a thin metallic barrier penetrated his blissful stupor.

“Darlin’?”

Trip’s snuffling endearment made his kiss-bruised lips turn up as he lifted his eyes to meet a hazy, silly smile. “Yes - Charles?”

Even slack-jawed in post-coital bliss, he noted, the use of his baptismal name made Tucker wince. “That was…”

“Good?”

“’mazin’.” The thin metal skin of the maintenance shaft flexed as someone smacked into it on the other side and both men flinched away, making their most sensitive areas twitch and twin squeals contort their lips. “You’d better move, right?”

“Mmmm.” He sucked in a breath against the friction of withdrawal but arrows of near-pain fired through Malcolm all the same. “Got a rag in there?”

From the tool case tucked behind his head, Tucker produced a pristine white cloth with which to dab their come-smeared stomachs and chests. “Never come without someone touchin’ my cock before I met you,” he whispered, wiping an errant smudge from the exterior bulkhead at their side. “You’re somethin’ else, Mister Reed, you know that?”

“You’re inspirational, my love.” In the tight confines of their lair the best Malcolm could do was dress at a crouch and hope he didn’t look completely debauched on exit. “You don’t mind… I know it’s not quite the full-fat fantasy, but…”

“Malcolm, you great dope.” Awash with adoration, Trip ruffled the younger man’s already sex-messed hair and got himself a jab in the ribs as repayment. “You can come seduce me anytime an’ any place, got that? Jus’ – please don’t call me _Charles_ while you’re doin’ it!”

“Really? Pity, I rather liked it.” He’d just have to hope their subordinates put his dishevelled state down to working in a cramped sweatbox, Reed decided, giving his hair a final distracted smoothing. “Give me a minute to get clear, okay?”

“Sure thing, Lieutenant.” Watching the pieces of Lieutenant Reed’s stern military persona snap into place right after mind-blowing sex still enthralled Trip which, he supposed, meant old Johnny was right: he was a lost cause. “Dinner tonight?”

“Meet you in the mess hall – always assuming you’re finished here.”

The sentence ended as the Armoury Officer opened the hatch out into Engineering and hopped out, stretching his spine as if it had been twisted to a pretzel from being bent in the shaft for so long. “Won’t take me another minute, Lieutenant – an’ thanks for your help,” Trip hollered obligingly after him. Malcolm made a show of rolling his eyes at the nearest crewman.

“You’re more than welcome, Sir.” He turned away, finding himself nose-to-nose with a Vulcan. “Good afternoon, Commander.”

“Lieutenant Reed.” For a panicked instant he thought he saw emotion flash across her bland expression before common sense kicked in and he remembered the nasal numbing agent T’Pol had once said she used the way he did toothpaste – every morning religiously, even before his eyes were properly opened. “Ensign Tanner advised me I’d find you here. Your proposal for realigning the targeting scanners is logical; I’ve recommended to the Captain that we proceed.”

“Thank you, Commander.” They both heard Trip’s extravagant groan as he clambered out of the maintenance shaft behind them. “The power drain will be minimal, _if_ the Chief Engineer has any concerns, and should last no more than a couple of hours. I’ll instruct my team to begin preparations. If you’ll excuse me?”

T’Pol’s acquiescence was given with a regal dip of the head. Before the Chief Engineer could start to voice any of his inevitable objections in person Malcolm sauntered out of his department, barely repressing a merry whistle.

His day was going from good to better. And if he and Trip could fit in a professional row then some personal making up later, it had the potential to finish up being absolutely brilliant.


End file.
